


Black and White

by Mice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Greg has an instagram, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: When Mycroft does a background check on Greg, he finds a well-disguised Instagram account where Greg posts candid B&W photos of London, with a keen eye for light and angle. Then one day he posts a glimpse of Mycroft's silhouette with this caption: <3from a plot bunny by Paia and with an additional Mottlemoth prompt of "frustrated"
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 80
Kudos: 394
Collections: JustMystradeThoughts Plot Bunny Adoptions, Social Media Fics





	Black and White

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paia_Loves_Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/gifts).



Mycroft had to admit that the man was careful. The Instagram account was very carefully not at all associated with his legal identity. It was only through some extremely intensive investigation that the account was found at all.

Lestrade had been working with Sherlock for months. Mycroft had been intrigued by the Detective Inspector when they met the first time, but initially refused to allow himself any kind of personal connection. They spoke occasionally, almost entirely about his brother and the cases for which Lestrade had enlisted Sherlock's aid.

The photographs on the account were stunning. Candids of London, its architecture, and street scenes were the majority of his work. Lestrade's eye for light and framing and angles was artistic and unique. Mycroft, who enjoyed photography as an art form, went so far as to create an account as well -- even more deeply buried than Lestrade's -- simply to follow him. Mycroft never posted anything. He wasn't a photographer himself, and it wouldn't do to have anything that could ultimately be traceable to his own identity.

Lestrade didn't upload new photos every day. Despite the quality of his work, the fact that he updated rarely and irregularly meant he had a much smaller following than many photographers of lesser skill who updated more frequently. Mycroft enjoyed Lestrade's studies of people in the street, all carefully framed so as to avoid showing faces, thereby preserving the privacy of the individuals whom he photographed. He had great skill at catching the quiet, introspective moments of ordinary people.

The captions on the architectural and detail photos would specify the location where each was taken, though the photos of people generally had only a comment about the mood Lestrade felt was captured. Mycroft checked weekly for new updates, pleased when new photos appeared.

He followed Lestrade through the years of his work with Sherlock, through the man's cases with Scotland Yard, and through his personal struggles with a slowly failing marriage. Mycroft could read Lestrade's moods as clearly through his photographs as he could from his body when they met in person. He saw the subtle signs of increasing distress and loneliness as the marriage fell apart, and the long pause after Sherlock's revelation that Lestrade's wife was cheating on him. Mycroft wished he could intervene, could help with the divorce, but there was nothing at all he could do for the man.

They'd become friends, of a sort, over the years. Lestrade had eventually become Greg, and formal meetings had slowly turned to coffee or lunch, then to dinner. The conversations had drifted from topics solely concerning Sherlock to current events -- carefully curated on Mycroft's part, as there was so much he could never reveal -- and more personal things. They shared a love of film noir, which Mycroft found completely unsurprising, given Greg's eye for black and white. Greg also enjoyed silent film for similar reasons and often spoke of the creative ways in which the early directors handled lighting and angles for their effects, and of their artistic choices, with F. W. Murnau and other German Expressionist directors being personal favorites. Mycroft had more of an appreciation for the classic horror films that had sprung from the same sources. 

They never spoke of photography. Mycroft didn't mention it, given that Greg never brought it up. He thought the photographs were too personal a topic for Greg, given how revealing many of them were of his moods. There was something about Greg's intense privacy around the entire topic that left Mycroft unwilling to pry, not wanting to damage the tender artistry that expressed so much of his friend's heart. All the same, he found himself wanting to talk with him about it, frustrated by his inability to approach the topic without exposing his knowledge of the carefully hidden account. Mycroft was uncertain why Greg kept it so utterly private, but he respected his friend's choice. With their slowly deepening friendship, Mycroft found himself becoming more and more emotionally invested in the man, finding it harder as time passed to keep himself distant. It became increasingly difficult to convince himself that his feelings were no more than that.

He wanted more, but Mycroft didn't know how to approach the topic.

When the photo appeared on Greg's Instagram, Mycroft was stunned. It was just another candid study of a man in the rain, near a crime scene, except that it wasn't. His face was hidden by an umbrella, but Mycroft recognized himself instantly. The photo was framed with care and Mycroft could see the tension in his body as he stood near his car, watching for Sherlock to appear. It wasn't just the tension and Mycroft's worry that came through in the photo, but the framing itself expressed such a sense of longing that it left Mycroft breathless.

Beneath the photo, where Greg would normally include a note about the mood, there was only a single red heart.

Mycroft was breathless with shock. He stared at the photo for a very long time, uncertain what to do with this new knowledge. He'd known that their friendship had slowly been growing closer, but this? How could this exist?

The only explanation that suited the evidence was that Greg had fallen in love with him. It felt impossible.

Uncertain, and with an ache in his own heart, Mycroft made a copy of the photograph and printed it out with the comment attached. If he was wrong, it would be not just awkward but devastating. If he was right…

He brought the photo with him the next time they had dinner together. It was difficult to keep from producing it before dinner began, but if he were wrong, he wanted to enjoy one last meal together before Greg shut him out.

"You seem a little out of sorts tonight," Greg said, as they lingered over wine and dessert.

Mycroft sighed and knew the time had come. He took the photo from his jacket pocket and laid it on the table between them. "I have a confession to make."

Greg picked up the photo and looked at it, going pale. "Where did you find this?" he asked, quiet and nervous.

"Some years ago, when you had just begun working with my brother, you were subjected to a very thorough background check. Your Instagram account -- impressively deeply buried, and well-hidden, to your credit -- was discovered." Mycroft looked up from his glass of wine to Greg's face. "Your work is extraordinary. I've been following you ever since."

"For… you've been following me for years, and you never said anything?" Greg shifted uneasily in his chair. His hand was trembling slightly.

Mycroft nodded. "Your work seemed so very personal. It was, of course, posted in a public place where anyone could find it, but your identity was hidden, and deliberately so. I didn't wish to distress you or cause you to change anything about what you were doing. I didn't want to invade your privacy any more than I already had by discovering the existence of the account in the first place. But the other night, when you posted this --" Mycroft gestured at the photo in Greg's hand.

Greg swallowed roughly. "Then… you must know…"

"If your concise comment on the photo is evidence enough, yes. I was very hesitant to bring this to you because I didn't wish to be wrong about what I believe it says. I didn't want to damage our friendship. I hope --" Mycroft took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I hope that we can explore this in greater depth."

"You're not upset." Greg's head tilted slightly, the tremor in his hand stilling.

"No," Mycroft murmured. "Far from it."

Greg set the print on the table and reached for Mycroft's hand, twining their fingers together. "I never knew how to say it to you. I thought it would always just be me watching you, being just a friend. I… I never imagined you might let me in."

"And I never imagined that you might have such feelings for me. They are, I assure you, returned." Mycroft's voice was soft and gentle, and he smiled as Greg relaxed, a broad grin brightening his face. Heart thundering in his chest, Mycroft asked, "Would you consider coming home with me tonight?"

Greg drew Mycroft's hand to his lips and kissed it. "I would love to."


End file.
